


the liar can rest here a moment

by saekhwa



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Asexual Mick, Character Study, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Gen, Mentions of past child abuse, Missing Scene, More of my Mick feelings, Post-Chronos, Pyromania
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 00:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6681628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/saekhwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forgiveness wasn't easy. It was why Mick didn't bother looking back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the liar can rest here a moment

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place during episodes 1.11 and 1.12, in which I have a lot of feelings about Mick and Len and everything post-Chronos, and unfortunately, the show glosses over a lot of this. 
> 
> A million thanks to Moriavis and J for beta'ing. I have the most awesome friends. 
> 
> Title comes from "The Problem with Promises" by Leslie Anne McIlroy.

Snart was staring again. He'd been staring at Mick since he'd stumbled from the cell, clutching his arm close to his chest and licking the blood off his split lip. They didn't talk to the crew about what had happened. It was obvious. And neither one of them was the talking type. Fight made that crystal clear. Or should've. 

Sara caught Mick's eye, though. Slid a look at Snart, back to Mick, and then shook her head. "Not quite what I meant, but I'm glad the two of you have made up."

She walked away, and Mick let it go just as easily. He took stock of the room. Hacking Gideon, taking Snart — it'd been easy. Now Mick stood on this side of things again with outdated tech and amateurs. 

Didn't matter anymore.

Mick told the crew all they needed to know about the Hunters and then turned, walking away to strap into his seat. Rip issued his orders, as predictable as Mick remembered. There was a reason the Time Masters always caught up to him. Rip's plan boiled down to running away, running fast and far through time as if anyone in history successfully escaped that way.

Mick felt Snart's eyes on his back as he walked away. Could still feel 'em when everyone took their seats.

~*~

Haircut wouldn't shut up about the Old West, but everyone had the same fantasies — gunslingers, Wyatt Earp, saloons and gambling tables. Proved no one had changed. 

Mick knew time hadn't passed for any of 'em. Only one of them capable of understanding the Vanishing Point would've been Rip, and Mick wasn't going to have another heart-to-heart with some skinny twerp who thought he knew better than everyone else. 

He looked at Snart, who watched the two lovebirds stand by the replicator and make eyes at each other. Gave Mick the chance to look at Snart's hand. Not that he could see any differences this far, but he had a keener eye now. He noticed things. Things like Snart touching everything he could, running his fingers along the walls, sliding his hand over the chairs. Earlier, he'd had a ball that he bounced along the floor while the crew walked to the replicator, all of them talking about Salvation. 

What a crock. But it figured Rip would come to a town called _Salvation_. 

The Hunters would find 'em, though. Like Mick had found them as Chronos. He glanced at Rip but didn't bother wasting the breath to warn him. Time Masters never listened. 

When he looked back at Snart, Snart was pretending to watch the fashion show, leaned casually against the wall, but Mick knew. Snart was keeping an eye on him. And the ball Snart'd had earlier was tucked away somewhere out of sight. Probably why Snart had his fingers curled around his arm, why he ran them along the sleeve of his jacket. Subtle. Barely noticeable. So when he stopped, Mick looked up. Snart narrowed his eyes and then looked away, at Sara, who dropped a cowboy hat on top of her head and smirked.

One by one, everyone got into costume, trusting what Rip had said about being safe here. One by one, they filed out, Sara trailing at the end. She shot Mick and Snart a look over her shoulder but still left with everybody else. 

Then it was just Mick and Snart alone in the room. 

Mick folded his arms over his chest. "Go ahead. Say it."

Snart hardened his jaw. It made his mouth a thin line and narrowed his face. Mick leaned against his own wall, willing to wait Snart out. Another thing he'd learned in the Vanishing Point: patience. Practically an endless supply of it. 

Gave him a chance to watch Snart, and he saw a lot while they stood there in silence. Snart tightened his hand around his arm, had his head turned away but glanced at Mick from the corners of his eyes. His stance was stiff, and his shoulders crept higher and higher the tenser he got. 

"Lisa," Snart finally said, voice rough.

Good. Mick was glad for it. Glad that saying her name had been hard. He saw fear in Snart's eyes. Fear and guilt. Probably why Snart still wouldn't look at Mick straight, not hold his gaze and face up to it.

Mick dropped his arms and pushed away from the wall. "Like I said. I'll play nice." Then he turned.

Behind him, Snart said, "Mick," but Mick didn't stop. He kept on walking.

~*~

Omega Protocols. Mick knew this would happen. Didn't need to see the future or be a Time Master to know. He'd been waiting for it for a lot of years. Being erased from the timeline sat in the back of his head, always there, like telling Snart, "You should've killed me when you had the chance."

And there was Snart's chance when Mick was nothing more than a defenseless, punk kid all by himself.

The crew saved him anyway. Haircut hauled the kid in, and Mick could barely stand to look at him. He didn't remember being so young. Couldn't see any of the scars that defined who he was now, but Mick knew about the ones underneath the kid's shirt, every fractured and broken bone, every burn and bruise and beating from good ol' dad. 

And then that punk kid told him, "You sound just like dad."

Mick almost hit him like he was the old man. Never wanted the fire more than he did in that second before he chose to walk away. The fire had almost finished him once, but it seemed like no one and nothing could accomplish what should've been simple. At least time would finish the job eventually. 

~*~

Mick sat on a crate in Waverider, minding his own business when Snart decided to crash the party. 

"Did she inspire you, Mick?"

Mick glanced at Snart and then looked back down, at his rough, scarred hands, but he only saw the punk kid at the house who'd found a match. Mick had always been good at finding them, squirreling them away, could still remember the heat, the intensity of the flames. 

He clenched his hands into fists. "What the hell are you talking about, Snart?"

Snart took a step forward, because the toe of his shoe came into Mick's line of sight. "The Pilgrim." 

"Still as clear as mud."

"Cut the crap. You know I'm talking about Lisa." The way Snart sneered those words— 

Mick looked up and saw Snart's hand on his cold gun, but it stayed in its holster. He looked Snart square in the eye, and this time, Snart didn't look away. 

"Yeah," Mick said. "The Pilgrim's the big bad, doesn't take prisoners." Doesn't leave anyone behind, but that was a thought Mick wasn't gonna voice again. "Gave me a lot of ideas. She's creative. Kinda like you."

Snart took another step forward, but Mick didn't stand. He tilted his head up, could see the violence in Snart, the way he kept it under wraps, tightly controlled in the clench of his fists at his sides, the pinch of his face. 

"Go on," Mick said. "You really wanna stop me? The little punk is at the house. No one would know. Accidents happen all the time." They both knew. Snart didn't flinch, but he looked down. At Mick's boots or hands, it was hard to tell. But they'd both spent most of their lives telling the curious about running into doors, falling down a lot of stairs, tripping on the playground. Clumsy kids who turned into clumsy teenagers, and no one the wiser. 

Damn near comical how Snart's eyes widened when he caught on to the first part of what Mick had said. 

Snart's hands went loose at his sides as he said, "We're partners."

"Yeah. Were."

Snart looked away. Mick leaned back, resting his shoulders against the wall, hands open and loose on his knees.

"When we get back to Central, Lisa—"

Didn't matter what Snart was going to say. Mick didn't want to hear it, so he said, "Yeah. She's all you got." He pulled himself up to his feet. Didn't feel like dragging this out anymore. "We'll get her back."

Snart didn't say a word this time around, and leaving him behind was gonna get easier. Was getting easier with each step. 

~*~

Watching the kid — Rip as a kid — stab the Pilgrim, he could've been a Rogue. Snart and Rip wouldn't've gotten along, but they didn't get along now and Snart had still made his choice. 

And Mick had one to make, too. 

He found himself in the hall with the match again, holding it up to his palm. Made him curl his fingers against his own palms, where he held a lot of burns, a lot of memories of fire under the gloves. That was all he had now, though: memories.

"I'm you," he told himself. 

And the kid pushed away from the wall. Couldn't believe it, could he? He stared at Mick like he wanted it to be a lie. Still could be. With enough time. Traveling through the muck of time had taught Mick another thing: time could be changed. Time Masters changed things all the time, always talking about preservation but changes were changes.

So he stood in that hall with himself and saw fear. Fear and guilt. And he did one of the hardest damn things in his life. He forgave that kid and offered himself a chance. A lot of chances, if it didn't all end here when they faced Savage. 

He walked back to the ship, moved slowly, because he'd spotted Rip in the living room, talking to his mom. Who'd have believed the sneaky bastard would grow up to be that. Mick shook his head, knew he'd be alone while everyone made nice with their families and loved ones, so hearing his name made him freeze mid-step. 

He looked over his shoulder, and there she was. Lisa. Hand on her hip, pouting at him. 

"Don't tell me you didn't miss me," she said. 

Mick immediately looked behind her. And there he was. Snart. Leaned against the wall, looking at his fingers like he didn't notice or didn't care about what was going on. But Mick knew Snart would be there, knew Snart wouldn't go far when Lisa's life had been threatened now for the third time. With Lewis and the Pilgrim in that crew, Mick knew he wasn't keeping good company as far as Snart was concerned.

It was while Mick was looking at Snart that Lisa closed the distance between them. Mick braced for a punch, even though Lisa's stance wasn't good for it. She lifted her arms, and he hardened his jaw anyway, stood there stiff as a board when she hugged him. She pulled away, grinning, moving her hands to his shoulders.

"Lenny was right. You've changed."

"A lot's changed."

Lisa punched Mick's shoulder, but there wasn't any power behind it as she whirled to glare at Leonard. "Yeah, and you two have been holding out on me. Not fair."

Snart scowled. Meant they'd been having this argument since they found her on the Pilgrim's ship. "It's not safe."

Lisa rolled her eyes and looked at Mick again. "Don't you dare agree with him."

She knew. She had to know. What Mick had threatened. Snart had to have told her about the kidnapping, losing his hand, all the details that led to now. But she grinned at Mick like they were on a job, like this was Central. 

"I want in on this," she said. 

"No." Snart detached himself from the wall, eyes narrowed. "You're going to stay at the safe house—"

"With children, Lenny? Really?"

Snart smirked, but it pulled tight. Mick noticed a lot more details these days. "It's your turn to take care of me," Snart said.

Enough of a cue for Mick to step out of this. He shifted, took a step back, but Lisa's hand tightened on his shoulder, and she turned her head, pinning him with a hard stare. 

"And you, too?" She said it with a smirk, but her eyes were too focused, too serious. Mick didn't know what she was asking, what she really meant. Neither Snart ever came at anything straight. "We're Rogues," Lisa continued, and patted Mick's cheek before looping an arm around his shoulders, both of them squared off against Snart, who had his arms crossed over his chest, looking between 'em both with a frown. "We stick together, boys. I'm coming with you."

"Lisa." Annoyed. Definitely meant the Snarts had been arguing for a while about this.

"What d'you say, Mick?" Lisa turned her smile to him. "For old time's sake?"

Mick glanced at Snart. "We either take her or she sneaks on board."

"You gonna help me keep an eye on her, Mick?" Snart stepped forward, and there was that violence again, in the tight line of his shoulders, the narrow, focused way he looked at Mick. "Gonna help me keep her _safe_?"

Mick turned to look at her and said, "Yeah. I've got your back."

Lisa smiled, practically ear to ear as she turned back to Snart. "I don't need saving, Lenny. The Pilgrim got the drop on me, but I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." She elbowed Mick in the ribs. "It's the two of you who need saving. Lucky for you, I'm your knight in shining armor." 

"If anything goes wrong—"

"Chill out, Lenny." She smirked as she said it and then turned her head, sharing a wink with Mick. "Don't wanna get too hot under the collar."

Sounded like Snart's line, and Mick looked over at him. Snart shrugged, but they both shared a smile, and with Lisa between 'em, felt like old times.


End file.
